


I Don't Blame You For Being You (But Sometimes I Do)

by sadesmae



Category: Glee
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadesmae/pseuds/sadesmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or 4 Times Where Rachel and Santana Don’t Make Up (But Are Still There For Each Other) and the 1 Time They Do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Blame You For Being You (But Sometimes I Do)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is. But somewhere after, _“You and I have never been friends! And never will be.”_... this came along. This is **not** femslash. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. 
> 
> Up ahead... cursing, underage drinking, induced vomiting, vomiting, drinking shenanigans, etc. (Uh, the fun drunk stuff is based off of my own experiences and I don't condone any of this.)

1) 

  
Rachel spends a lot of time thinking about that time she sent Sunshine to a crack house. But, not in the way that you might think.   
  
She thinks about if she could get Santana to fall for that crap and like _actually_ stay there.  
  
Whatever. A girl can dream.  
  
It's just that Rachel has worked her whole life to get here. Santana is a freeloader. She just walks right in, settles down, and everything works out for her.

 

It's not fair.

 

She's been singing since she was born, dancing since she was one, and acting since she was three.

 

She did everything right.

 

She tried _really_ hard.

 

In high school, she wiped grape flavored ice from her face nearly twice a week. She spent every second of her free time practicing. She didn’t have friends until Glee Club and even then, she questioned the validity of those friendships. She cried and told herself it would all be worth it.

 

(She doesn’t know if her tears were worth it.)

  


.

 

Later, they’re both at practice, taking turns rehearsing “My Man”, when her voice cracks.

 

She abruptly stops singing and puts a hand to her throat.

 

Her voice never cracks.

 

The last time her voice cracked she was as equally singing as she was sobbing and so that doesn’t even really count.

 

She knows it’s because she can’t get her mind off of the fight.

 

She’s stressed out about it. Nothing is worse than having to deal with someone who’s pissing you off on a daily basis.

 

However, she’s always a little bit stressed, which is why she can’t believe she’s letting this affect her so much.

 

She takes a deep breath and chances a glance at Santana.

 

Santana is looking in her direction, a mix of confusion and concern outlining her strong features. She _knows_ that something must be up for Rachel Berry to make a mistake while singing.

 

“Let’s take five. Rachel, try to drink some water or something.” Their director breaks the silence, giving her a questioning look.

 

She mouths _“sorry”_ and directs her eyes to the ground. She’s embarrassed and she’s not in a position to be making mistakes like this. Funny Girl will be her first Broadway show and she’s no seasoned professional, even though she often thinks her talent out shines lots of professionals.

 

Their director has worked on many different shows and he knows talent. He chose her to be his Fanny… but he could just as easily choose someone else.

 

She’s can’t mess up this up.

 

“Yo, Berry, fucking chill.”

 

She looks up at Santana’s voice and catches her rolling her eyes.

 

It’s funny that the words she needed to hear ( _fucking chill_ ) had to come from the last person she wanted to hear them from.

 

2)

 

Dani hasn't texted her back in a week and she thinks this means they're over.

 

She hasn't been broken up with before so she isn't really sure how this works, but she's got an idea.

 

 _Yeah_ , they were having issues. Most of them were her fault. She has a really hectic schedule now and she doesn't have time to hang out like they used to. She feels bad about it, but she's proud of herself for getting the understudy role... even if Rachel isn't.

 

And Dani is apparently bipolar now— she can't handle that. She’s a total bitch, but she already deals with two nuts (one) on a daily basis and it's hard enough.

 

So she hasn't exactly been there for her and she's ignored all her calls... She deserves to be left hanging.

 

But, she's still mad.

 

She's mad that she ruined her first real relationship by being selfish. She’s mad that doesn't have anyone to vent to. She's mad that she doesn't have the balls to call Dani and beg them to talk.

 

She doesn't feel like apologizing. She knows she sucks.

 

She starts crying backstage and glares through her watery eyes at anyone who approaches her. She's embarrassed that she's doing this in public. She really can't help it though. She fucking destroys everything she touches.

 

She hears someone clear their throat and looks up to see Rachel standing a safe distance in front if her.

 

"We're starting again."

 

"Give me a minute."

 

"Why, what happened?"

 

"You lost the privilege to know anything about my life."

 

"I was just asking to be nice. I don't really care. You have mascara all over your face by the way."

 

"Fuck off, Berry."

 

Rachel rolls her eyes and stomps off toward her dressing room. She doesn't know where she's going because the stage is in the other direction and _apparently_ they’re starting. She stands up and faces the dark wall beside her, trying to wipe her face clean with her fingers.

 

 _The show must go on is the worst fucking saying ever_ , she thinks.

 

She turns around to start walking over to the stage when something wacks her in the head. “The fuck?”

 

She looks down.

 

It’s a tissue box.

 

She doesn't need to look up to know that Rachel threw it.

 

"Bitch." She mumbles, as she grabs a handful of tissues and wipes off the remains of the black coating on her skin.

 

3)

 

Kurt convinces Rachel to move back in.

 

She's not happy about it, but it was Rachel's apartment first and she's gotten so good at ignoring her because of rehearsal that she figures it doesn’t even matter.

 

Plus, rent will be cheaper again, which is definitely a good thing.

 

It’s only been two weeks, but she forgot how much shit Rachel had. She feels like Rachel and Kurt have made 20 trips up and down the five sets of apartment stairs.

 

She'd offer to help, but she doesn't want to help because Rachel's a fucking diva.

 

She hears a few loud bangs, as if they’re carrying a large object that’s difficult to get through the narrow hallway.

 

“We are almost there Kurt, we’re—”

 

“Shit!” She hears Kurt yell.

 

That can’t be good.

 

She jumps up, running out the already propped open door, and sees Kurt struggling with one end of a thick wooden board. She can’t even see Rachel, but assumes she’s frozen in place, the board digging into her skin.

 

“Oh thank god, Santana, I’m about to drop this.”

 

She grabs the middle of the wooden board and positions it horizontally so that Kurt can get a better grip of his end and Rachel can get a better grip on hers.

 

They manage to get the board through the doorway and settle it against the wall.

 

“Thanks.” Rachel spits out, examining her red, irritated hands.

 

“Whatever. What is this shit?”

 

“A partition.”

 

There is defiance behind her words.

 

Santana hates that.

 

She shakes her head because this chick is terrible.

 

“You’re so fucking dramatic, it’s pathetic.  It’s like you always have to find a new way to show everyone how you’ve been wounded.”

 

“Well, I have been wounded or should I say stabbed? Stabbed by someone who was supposed to be _my friend_.”

 

“Get over yourself, Rachel.” With that she walks out of the apartment, but not before she knocks down that god-awful partition.

 

4)

 

Rachel's drunk. No, not drunk, _wasted._

 

"I'm drunk." She announces unnecessarily.

 

Santana watches her stumble into their apartment, locking the door behind her.

 

"I can tell."

 

"I want to kill your face."

 

"Eloquent. Well have fun trying."

 

Rachel walks over to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. She twists the tops off and starts chugging like her life depends on it.  But, hey, maybe her voice does.

 

"You know you’re why the worst?" She asks, pointing a finger at Santana and circling it around. “ _Becaaaaause_ , I didn't think you'd hurt me. I'm so _used_ to getting hurt by everyone around me, but for some reason I'm always surprised when it happens again. And for some reason, I didn't think you'd be the one to hurt me. But you were Santana and I don't know what to do. I'm mad and I'm hurt and I feel like I hate you... but if I really did, I probably wouldn't be saying this to you right now. I wouldn't care to."

 

Santana looks right at her and says nothing.  Santana always has something to say.

 

“And I _know_ I that I don't _technically_ have the right to be mad, but you knew me. You knew I would be mad. You decided not to tell me because you knew.”

 

She’s shaking her head, like she’s totally confused and Santana thinks part of her really is.

 

They both can be oblivious to their own flaws.

 

"Yeah I knew. But, you also knew that I wanted something, that I _needed_ something. You know you can only support me when it's completely unrelated to you. You were never happy when I got a solo in Glee Club and you’re not happy now."

 

"That is not true!”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Rachel. If the tables were turned, you would have went for the role just like I did. You and I both know that.”

 

_Clink clink clink._

 

They turn towards the high-pitched noise and watch as Kurt taps a coffee cup with a spoon. _Fucking Kurt_.

 

“Hey, hey. Both of you— listen up. I know you’re just getting started, which is why I’m ending this now. You are both selfish, you are both crazy, and you are both keeping me awake.”

 

Rachel huffs and storms off to her make shift room. She pulls the gauzy pink curtain closed in front of her _partition_ and literally falls into bed.

 

Santana hopes she’s hung-over in the morning.

 

5)

 

"Santana! Help! Something happened to Kurt!" Rachel screams through the phone. She sounds scared and desperate. Santana is worried, but also kind of wishing she didn’t pick up her phone.

 

She has no idea what possessed her to.

 

The next half hour is a blur of trying to follow Rachel’s directions and navigate random subway changes and finally just taking a cab to the club that Rachel described.

 

When she gets there, Rachel is standing near the lobby wall and Kurt is unconscious at her feet.

 

"What the fuck?"

 

"He either drank too much or he's been drugged. I'm not sure. But, I didn't want to call the police because we're underage and I don't want his father to find out unless it's serious."

 

"You’re an idiot, but I probably wouldn't have called the police either- they're good for nothing. We have to get him home right now."

 

They each lift one of Kurt’s arms over their shoulder and lean into his side. They struggle to get him up the narrow staircase of the sketchy club, but once their outside Santana whistles for a taxi and runs towards the first one that slows down. Rachel follows slowly behind, managing to hold Kurt up as she drags him with her to the cab.

 

Santana opens the door and literally shoves Kurt inside, who lands face first on the seat. She pushes Rachel inside after him before squeezing in herself.

 

This is the closest the three former friends have been in the last month and it’s pretty shitty that _this_ is the situation that has brought them together.

 

"Bushwick." She says to the driver. “As fast as you possibly can.”

 

The cab ride is the opposite of fun.

 

Kurt starts to move around, which makes them both sigh in relief.

 

However, the relief is short lived because not even a second later, he’s throwing up on Rachel and Rachel is gagging and one of them has to keep their cool.

 

Looks like it’s going to be her.

 

Santana reaches over Kurt's slightly blue body and covers Rachel’s mouth with her hand.

 

"You have to try not to throw up. I know it’s gross, but you have to try."

 

Rachel's nods her head vigorously.

 

Santana takes off her coat and tries to mop up some of the vomit that’s covering Rachel’s lap. It barely makes a difference and her coat is now ruined. Great.

 

.

 

When they actually get home, they decide to undress Kurt and lift him into the tub.

 

"This is kind of weird..." Rachel thinks out loud. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

 

"Nah, it’s okay, because yeah, this definitely is."

 

They smile at each other and it’s the first time they’ve showed any positive emotion towards each other since the fight and it feels nice.

 

She may have missed Rachel.

 

"But this is going to be weirder." She walks over to the sink and runs her hands under cold water.  She takes a deep inhale and walks back over to wear Kurt is lying motionless in the tub.

 

Before she can think too much about what she’s going to do, she shoves both her pointer and middle fingers down his throat and presses down hard on the back of his tongue.

 

This was one of the many less than glamorous lessons she learned from being a Cheerio.

 

She pulls her fingers out when Kurt starts coughing and watches as he starts compulsively throwing up. She pushes his head forward so that his vomit mostly misses his body and rubs his back encouragingly.

 

"Great job, Porcelain. Come on."

 

"I can't believe this is happening." Rachel mutters.

 

“Believe it. Go grab some shitty towels, because this about to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

 

Santana’s right. Kurt throws up for a full twenty minutes before dry heaving for another hour. They turn the faucet on, allowing for warm water to stream down Kurt’s chilled back, and take turns dumping the vomit that won’t go down the drain into the garbage disposal.

 

“This absolutely disgusting.” Rachel squeaks out. She’s plugging her nose as she sprays the bathroom with Febreeze. She has a feeling that it might not do the trick and cracks open the small bathroom window too.

.

 

Another hour later, they force a still-out-of-it Kurt to drink a cup of cold water and tuck him into bed. They dress him in one of his old Les Miserables t-shirts just in case he decides to throw up again.

 

They walk out of his room and end up in the kitchen.

 

“Would you like some tea?” Rachel asks with caution.

 

“Why not? Anything to help me relax after that episode.”

 

Rachel laughs to herself and turns on the teapot before turning back to Santana, who’s taken a seat at the island.

 

“What do you think happened to him?”

 

“Based off how much he threw up and his unconscious state, I want to say a mix of both alcohol and some sort of anti-depressant. That combo is _deadly_.”

 

 “I swear he was fine. I wanted to leave the club and so I was waiting for him by the door and he never came. I start looking for him, but didn’t find him until half hour later lying on the floor outside the bathroom.”

 

“Classy.”

 

“Santana.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Rachel takes a deep breath.

 

“No I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t want to fight anymore with you, Santana. I haven’t been very mature the last couple weeks. I have been acting crazy… maybe a little diva-like. And though I wouldn’t blame myself _completely_ for Kurt’s overdose, I’m sure I contributed somehow.”

 

“Stop stop stop. As much as it pains me to admit, I was wrong here too. I should have told you I was going out for the understudy role. I’m just impulsive and not very good at talking about feelings.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not very good at being happy for other people when I feel like it could take attention way from me. Which is something I’m trying to work on. You’re _so_ talented, Santana. You are going to be huge someday. I was scared that you’d take my role and suddenly I wouldn’t be Fanny.”

 

“Berry, they couldn’t find more legit Fanny Brice if they tried. I would have never taken the role from you, even if I were offered it. I actually _wouldn’t_ do that to you. I’m may be a bitch, but I’m not that bitch from high school. Speaking of high school, sorry about everything I said a couple weeks ago. Uncalled for.”

 

“It’s okay. You were popular. I wasn’t. But, you had it tough too. I might have gotten bullied, sometimes even by you, but at least I was myself. I don’t know how you pretended every day.”

 

Rachel looks sad when she says that; like she’s genuinely amazed that Santana was able to keep everything bottled up inside for so long.

 

Santana shakes her head.

 

“I was an asshole. You didn’t deserve to be treated the way you were in high school. Everyone was just jealous. You were this frighteningly talented girl who knew what she wanted. People hate that. That’s why they were mean. I knew I could either be the cheerleader or the girl who was picked on for liking other girls… I chose the easy way out.”

 

She feels her eyes burn with tears and wills them to go back inside because she’s already filled her crying quota for the next year.

 

“However, we’re out of there now. William McKinley and all the fucking losers we dealt with every day are in the past. Now you’re this cool city chick who’s going to be on Broadway and I want to brag and tell everyone that I meet that you’re my best friend.”

 

She smiles at Rachel, who’s trying not to cry herself.

 

Rachel turns around towards the stove, becoming aware of the now boiling pot of water on the stove. She moves the pot off the burner and turns it off before taking out two matching mugs. She throws a bag of herbal tea into both mugs and fills them to the brim with hot water. She turns back around and slides one of the mugs towards Santana, excitement evident in her brown eyes.

 

“You called me cool.”

 

“Because you are cool. Weird, but also cool.”

 

Rachel rounds the island and launches herself at Santana. Her arms go around Santana’s shoulders and pull her in for tight hug.

 

Santana’s not usually one for hugging, but she relaxes into the embrace anyway and wraps her arms around Rachel’s waist.

 

When Rachel pulls back, she’s smiling so wide it’s contagious. She can’t help but smile back.

 

“It’s funny, we both never really had close girl friends before. I mean… you had Brittany and sort of had Quinn—“

 

“Nope. Brittany was my girlfriend and I only get along with Quinn when my self esteem is running low and or I’m drinking.”

 

She stands up from the stool and shuffles over to where she ditched her purse when they first came through the door and pulls out her wallet. She searches through her cards and crumpled cash before pulling out a small, rectangular paper.

 

"Aha." She throws down the school picture that Rachel gave her senior year.

 

“What? You kept that? I was such a loser to even give you that.”

 

“You really were. But, don’t tell anyone. Not even Kurt.”

 

“I won’t! This is amazing!”

 

“Berry, I’m warning you. It’s just hard for me to find people that I trust and even when I was shitting on you— I knew you were someone I could count on and I knew that even back in senior year. That means something to me. That’s why I kept it.”

 

“So we’re like _besties_ now?” Rachel grins smugly, being sure to put emphasis on the word “besties.”

 

“Not if you keep up that cheeky, valley girl talk shit.” Santana raises her eyebrows at Rachel _(her friend)_ and picks up her cups of tea. “Come on, let’s finish our tea on the couch so we can pass out after.”

 

She walks over to the couch waiting for Rachel to plop down next to her.

 

“Did you watch the last episode of The Voice?”

 

“No! Can we?” Rachel sits down next to her, being careful not to spill her tea.

 

“Why do you think I asked?” She laughs, searching through the guide until she finds the right episode.

 

“Did you know that we are far better singers than half the people who get on this show?” Rachel asks, tucking her feet beneath her legs.

 

“I don’t have to watch to know that, Berry.” She holds her palm out for a high-five that Rachel immediately gives back.

 

“Boom.”

 

.

 

It’s around eleven am when Kurt wakes up. He feels like hell and can’t remember anything past being at the club with Rachel. _Shit_.

 

He manages to pull himself out of bed and looks down at the Les Mis shirt he’s currently sporting.

 

“Oh no.” He mumbles to himself.

 

He walks out of his room towards the bathroom, but stops short in the main living area.

 

The television is still on. There are clothes scattered across the floor. And on the couch are Rachel and Santana… sleeping peacefully.

 

Rachel is tucked into the right corner, her head resting on the arm of couch. Santana is sprawled out on top of her, head on the opposite arm and her feet on Rachel’s lap.

 

“Hmm. Must have done something right.” He smirks, then realizes how much pain he’s in and rushes to the bathroom.

 

In reality, he must have done something very, _very_ wrong.


End file.
